Destruction
by Chikku-Chikku
Summary: "Hey, flea. Izaya." The once living ex-bartender, ex-bodyguard, and ex-human named Shizuo takes a drag on his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Invent something beautiful. Something lovely. Something that will completely destroy you."


**Warning:** This is kinda/sorta/basically a take two of _Insanity_. With lots more dialogue... _lots _more. Yep. And possibly confusing format and plotline.  
*Also, the words in italics that have quotes around them is Shizuo talking. The ones without any is Izaya.*

* * *

**Destruction**

* * *

It's a late and tiring Monday afternoon, laying on the floor of a collapsed room in an unnamed and unimportant man's apartment, when Izaya hears his voice.

_. . ._

_"Hey, you. Fucking waste of space__–"_

Startled, he turns to the source of noise. Stares at the mess of blond hair and vibrant brown eyes through an array of broken glass, loaded full of gunholes, tainted with the slightest red.

_"Invent something beautiful. Something lovely._  
_Something that will completely destroy you."_

The greeting had been familiar, but this request isn't. It's odd. Oddly sudden and oddly calm.

_. . .Ah?_

_Hah, how ridiculous you've become._

It's been so many years, what a miracle it is, to see this man in front of him now. Alive, breathing, not at all affected by the state of his attire and situation. Merely gazing at him with those cool eyes (now when have they become _cold _instead of _hot_?), with hands bundled up in both pockets. This person's uncanny knack for finding him anywhere has never ceased to amaze, though he could do without an encounter today.

Izaya opts for a light chuckle.

_Truly, truly. You must realize how impossible,  
So improbable this suggestion is._

Those eyes, more brilliant than they've been since he's last remembered them, just stare.

_"Why? How? So, you're saying there's actually something_  
_you _can't_ do?"_

For some reason, the sarcasm in that normally angry voice is frightening. And also very, very annoying.

Slowly, he rises to his feet, brushing off dust and a smear of blood from his clothes.

_Tch, if I were to answer that,  
surely you would use it against me. . ._

_However, though. I'll indulge you a little longer–_

_Why, yes. You are right._

_There are some things that can never be invented,  
that _should _never be invented._

Izaya isn't sure why he's even saying this. Is it because the sight of this man (though he definitely doesn't want to admit it to himself, let alone _out loud_) causes a sudden rush of adrenaline to course through his veins?

_"And what's that now?"_

He frowns in annoyance. Ikebukuro's greatest continues to stand outside the cracked glass that separates them, unmoving.

_You're a funny one, aren't you. . . A thick, brazen,  
naive idiot. How did we even come upon this subject . .?_

Though he's slightly disturbed by the turn of events, the once-grand informant just shrugs.

_No matter, I'll answer it anyway; but only for today._

The words come out then, quite smoothly, fluidly. As though he's been rehearsing the lines for the many years Shizuo has been gone, waiting for this one moment to say them. _  
_

_It would be ironic indeed, wouldn't you agree,  
if I were to invent something that would foolishly  
destroy every essence, every part of me  
just so you could laugh, celebrate in joyous reverie._

_Will you believe this, or must I drill it into your brain,_

_I do not wish to die,  
by _my _hands, especially—_

For some reason, the amused smirk on the man's face makes Izaya angry.

_"Then by whose? Or is there anyone special enough,  
__to be _blessed _enough, to end your pitiful life?"_

When had Shizuo gotten this mocking? It perturbs the informant to no ends, and he wonders now why the taller man is _still_ standing outside in the icy cold. Just gazing at him with a calm and even demeanor.

_How you hurt me with your brutish words,  
you stupid, stupid man~ But, interestingly enough, I find myself smiling –_

(this revelation shocks even Izaya himself)

_Curious, is it not?_

The smile turns into a twisted grimace, though his words remain neutral. . . and strangely open.

_– the thoughts coming out of my mouth now  
will be of no importance to you;_

_Actually, you may even dismiss it as phony, though  
what your minuscule brain can comprehend,  
even _I_ cannot comprehend. . ._

Izaya hesitates for only a second, before continuing in a lower voice.

_You ask who? Why, by now, you should know. . ._

_It must be _you_, of course._

He watches the slight flicker of _something _in Shizuo's eyes before continuing.

_Even I cannot invent anything capable of killing this body  
(for how can I call myself omnipotent if I ended such a perfect life?)_

_Even I cannot stretch as far as suicide,  
to sate this unsatisfied lingering within my chest—_

With a familiar growl, Shizuo interrupts his rambling.

_"Because you're afraid, aren't you?"_

By now, Izaya has approached the cracked and bloody window—the barrier between them. For some odd reason, his body ripples with a chill, hand almost trembling as he reaches out to touch the red glass. Nothing seems real anymore, not even his voice as he replies.

_My, how we're jumping to conclusions now!_

_But yes, I'll admit it,  
even to you, pestering, disgusting, vile thing you are–_

He swallows, suddenly remembering why he has come to this ruined building in the first place.

Suddenly sees the contrasting mixture of dull and bright in the protozoan's stare. The contrast between reality and fantasy.

_I am afraid._

Finally, Shizuo moves. A soft scuffle of feet, a strange twisting of his scarf, and then he's still again.

_"So you want someone else to do it for you,_  
_because you're too frightened to do it yourself?"_

That hated mouth pulls back in a disgusted sneer.

_"Don't you think that's a bit cowardly?"_

Izaya glares at the accusation. But in mere seconds, another smile is forced on his face.

_Haha~ If I were to be honest with your question  
(though, _look_, you must see my smile – I am certainly entertained!)_

_. . ._

_Yes, it is._

That all-knowing expression on the protozoan's face enrages him. This out of characterness, the way Shizuo seems to be standing there so oddly, amidst the tumbling snow, waiting patiently and yet filled with impatience at the same time, is too strange in its own way.

Where had he come from in the first place?

_Tch,  
__You're grinning as if you've won,  
__but we've only just begun to dissect this newly found intelligence of yours–_

Izaya leans forward, returning the sneer.

_Don't stop, keep asking,  
for I will answer everything with oh so straightforward truthfulness._

Not skipping a beat, Shizuo answers calmly.

_"Bullshit._

_There's nothing truthful about you. I already know ____–"_

Now the man is frowning, hands reaching in his pocket to grab a cigarette and lighter. Izaya watches this nonchalant movement with something akin to. . . comfort.

_"You depend on me, don't you? You keep smiling,_  
_but aren't those wounds a bit too hard to bear?"_

Shizuo jabs a finger at the air, pointed straight at the place where Izaya's heart should be, as though he is standing only centimeters from the man and not a dozen feet away.

_"Aren't you tired of talking and laughing with such _fakeness _in_  
_that damn voice of yours?"_

Izaya opens his mouth to protest at the insult.

_What? You think you can turn this around on me?  
I'll tell you how out of league you—_

_"I'm not here to 'top' you,  
__just stating the truth as I see it."_

Shizuo chuckles._  
_

_"It's funny how defensive someone can get,  
when they've lost all control of everything in their grasp."_

_I haven't lost control of anything._

_"Look all around you, and tell me now,  
do you call this control?"_

Izaya can't stop himself from obeying, crimson-brown eyes casting a cursory yet dreaded glance around the room. It's a small section of the apartment, crumbling from both the violence that had once destroyed the name and body of one unimportant person within and the endless years it has been left neglected. The sight of the bullet holes in the window, the bloodstains smeared upon the sharp glass, is enough to sicken him.

He says nothing.

_"Every time you reach out,  
you're reaching out for me.  
I can see it; that's why you come here,  
to find me."_

Outside, the snow continues to fall, Shizuo's voice as clipped and icy as the gently falling flakes.

_"That's why you tell me 'you, of course',  
because you don't have anyone else to depend on._

_And I gotta say____–"_

The next words surprise Izaya more than anything. Hurts him, even.

_"It's so fucking hilarious!_

_So goddamn satisfying  
to see everything thrown back in your face. . ."_

Shizuo doesn't miss the scowl. The sudden brightness in those crimson-red eyes.

_"You're angry__–"_

Yet prods him more.

_"Tell me,  
__How does it feel to be angry?  
__Not a nice feeling, huh?"_

Though they come out so much smaller than he had intended, the informant spits the words with venom.

_I hate you, so much._

There's an indecipherable look in Shizuo's eyes.

_"I know that._

_But I wonder sometimes if you don't get tired of it,  
you know, get tired of being so _hateful_."_

_That's rich, coming from the person who can barely speak a word  
__without dripping profanity and loathing in each syllable._

_"It's been a long time, I'm not the same as I once was.  
But you certainly haven't changed._

_Though. . ."_

_What?_

_"You've gotten even more fragile than before."_

The unexpected, blunt expression on Shizuo's face doesn't change. For some reason, Izaya can't look away. For some reason, he's afraid that something terrible is going to happen if he does.

_You're not going to take sympathy for me now, are you?  
_

_I'm not an innocent doll, a dainty little thing people can continuously abuse,  
__Like you and half of humanity believe so._

Shizuo laughs again.

_"Sympathy? No._

_I'll never have sympathy for someone like you,  
__And do you know why?"_

Shizuo doesn't even wait for him to answer.

_"Because you think you're ruining someone else's life  
__when you're actually ruining your own."_

Those calm brown eyes are blank and emotionless, as though registering or caring nothing of Izaya's own emotions. Not a hint of rage, not a hint of annoyance, not a hint of that affection he always always found after dismantling the barrier of heated, congealing lava.

It hits him then.

The feeling of emptiness, sudden and aching _loneliness_. The feeling of guilt and loathing, sudden and aching _hatred_. Not for the man in front of him, more of a spirit than anything else, an illusion fabricated by his wandering mind, but loathing for_. . . _himself.

He feels foreign, unwanted tears escape from his eyes. The hands in front of him, palms stained with the rusty hue of red, are the hands of a murderer _. . . _The murderer of his worst enemy.

Izaya stares straight through Shizuo.

"I'm sorry."

Somewhere in the crumbling apartment, there's a tie, a bartender vest, splattered with the sickly color of darkened, congealed blood. Somewhere in the graveyard of Ikebukuro, there's a body, filled with countless bullet holes, dyed a bleach-like, pale white. Somewhere in the bustling noise of a once-bright city, there's a man, living his life in ease and oblivion, not knowing that his request to kill Heiwajima Shizuo would result in chaos. To ruin, complete and utter destruction.

_His._

. . .

_"Hey, flea. Izaya."_

The once living ex-bartender, ex-bodyguard, and ex-human named Shizuo takes a drag on his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke.

_"Invent something beautiful. Something lovely._  
_Something that will completely destroy you."_

The tears are cold, stained icy cold on his cheeks. Izaya smiles crookedly, taking one step forward.

You, he says. Repeats it like a mantra.

_Youyouyouyouyou._

_You destroyed me._

Shizuo's words are calm, soft and quiet.

_"Then,_

_How about you come join me?"_

. . .

It's a late and tiring Monday afternoon, and laying on the floor of a collapsed room in an unnamed and unimportant man's apartment, Izaya closes his eyes for the last time. The light, flitting smile on his face betrays the dark blossoms of red dotting his chest, smearing blood all over the window and the gun in his hand.

* * *

_Fin._

* * *

**A/N: **After reading a sorta sad/reflective story, I felt like I wanted to write something that involved Shizuo and Izaya actually _talking _to each other. And some of the guilt that Izaya would feel if he'd really killed Shizuo (yeah, original huh?) This was just for me to get in the hang of dialogue exchange between two characters ('cuz all of my fics/stories recently have been more of one character's thoughts and musings, and not really any talk). x'D And I really wanted to experiment with another type of style, so sorry if it's ooc, and very angsty (but what's new? :|)

So yeah, like the warning at the beginning said, this could be considered another version of **Insanity**. Plotline is similar and even some words/thoughts of Izaya in here are reminiscent of teh other fic. xD Anyway, hopefully it was still enjoyable, I know my writing can be a taxing read C:

P.S. It was fun writing Izaya talking in such a poetic way. I can imagine him trying to annoy Shizu-chan with rhyming words X'D

Reviews and critiques are, as always, much love~!


End file.
